There was no letter for Evie when she arrived at the store.
Curiously enough she was not as disappointed as she expected to be.
There was a chance that Ronnie would have written after his visit to
the house, but when she found her desk bare, she accepted his neglect
with equanimity.
Her love for Ronnie was undiminished. She faced, with a coolness
which was unnatural in her, the future he had sketched, and if at
times she felt a twinge of uneasiness, she put the less pleasant
aspect away from her. It would not be honorable to go back on her
word, even if she wanted to do so. And she did not. As to the more
agreeable prospect she did not think about that either. It was
easier to dismiss the whole thing from her mind. She told herself
she was being philosophical. In reality, she was solving her problem
by the simple process of forgetting it.
Leaving the store at midday to get her lunch, she saw Ronnie. He was
driving past in his big Rolls and apparently he did not see her. Why
was she glad--for glad she was? That thought had to be puzzled out
in the afternoon, with disastrous consequences to her cash balance,
for when she made her return that night, she was short the price of a
hot-water bottle.
But Ronnie had seen her, long before she had seen him. He was on his
way to lunch with a man he knew but toward whom he had for some
reason conceived a dislike. It was rather strange, because Jerry
Talbot was the one acquaintance he possessed who might be called
"friend". They had known one another at Oxford, they had for some
time hunted in pairs, they shared memories of a common shame. Yet
when Jerry's excited voice had called him on the telephone that
morning and had begged him to meet his erstwhile partner at
Vivaldi's, Ronnie experienced a sense of nausea. He would have
refused the invitation, but before he could frame the words, Jerry
had rung off.
Vivaldi's is a smart but not too smart restaurant, and had been a
favorite lunching place of Ronnie's. It was all the more
unreasonable in him, that he should descend beneath the glass-roofed
portico with a feeling of revulsion.
Mr. Talbot had not arrived, said the beaming _maître de hotel_. Yes,
he had booked a table. Ronnie seated himself in the lounge and a
bellboy brought him an evening newspaper which he did not read. Had
he done so, he would not have waited.
Half an hour passed and Ronnie was feeling hungry. Another quarter
of an hour.
"I am going into the restaurant--when Mr. Talbot comes, tell him I
have begun my lunch."
He was shown to the table and chose a simple meal from the card. At
any rate, Jerry's unpardonable rudeness gave him an excuse for
declining further invitations.
He had finished his lunch and had signalled for his bill when,
looking round, he recognized two men at one of the window tables. He
would not have approached them, but Sir John Maxton beckoned.
Dr. Merville would gladly have dispensed with his presence, thought
Ronnie, and wondered if he had intruded into an important conference.
"Come and sit down, Ronnie. Lunching alone? That is rather unusual,
isn't it?"
"My friend disappointed me," said Ronnie and he saw the doctor's lip
curl.
"Did she--too bad," said Maxton.
"It was a 'he'," corrected Ronnie, and knew that neither man believed
him.
He noticed Sir John glancing at his companion.
"Ronnie, I wonder if you can help us. Do you remember the flotation
of that Traction Company of Steppe's?"
"I don't think it is much good asking Ronnie," the doctor broke in
with a touch of impatience. "Ronnie's memory is a little too
convenient."
"I remember the flotation--in a way," admitted Ronnie.
"Do you remember the meeting that was held at Steppe's house when he
produced the draft of the prospectus?"
Ronnie nodded.
"Before we go any farther, John," interrupted Merville, "I think it
will be fair to Ronnie, if we tell him that there is trouble over the
prospectus. Some of the financial papers are accusing us of faking
the assets. The question is, was I responsible, by including
properties which I should not have included, or did Steppe, in his
draft, give me the facts as I published them? I don't think Ronnie
will remember quite so vividly if he knows that he may be running
counter to Steppe."
Ronnie did not answer.
"You see what I am driving at," Sir John went on. "There may be bad
trouble if the Public Prosecutor takes these accusations
seriously--which, so far he hasn't. We want to be prepared if he
does."
"I cannot remember very clearly," said Ronnie. "I am not a member of
the Board. But I do recall very clearly Steppe showing a draft and
not only showing it, but reading it."
"Do you remember whether in that draft he referred to the Woodside
Repairing Sheds; and if he did, whether he spoke of those as being
the absolute property or leased property of the company?"
"The absolute property," said Ronnie. "I remember distinctly because
the Woodside Repairing Shops are on the edge of a little estate which
my father left me--you remember, John? And naturally I was
interested."
Merville was dumbfounded. Never in his most sanguine moments did he
suppose that Ronnie would assist him in this respect. Ronnie, who
shivered at a word from Steppe, whose sycophantic servant he had been!
"This may come to a fight," said Sir John, "and that would mean
putting you in the box to testify against Steppe. Have you
quarrelled with him?"
"Good gracious, no!" said Ronnie in surprise. "Why should I quarrel
with him? He doesn't worry me. In a way he is amusing, in another
way pathetic. I feel sometimes sorry for him. A man with such
attainments, such powers and yet so paltry! I often wonder why he
prefers the mean way to the big way. He uses his power outrageously,
his strength brutally. Perhaps he didn't start right--got all his
proportions wrong. I was working it out last night--the beginnings
of Steppe--and concluded that he must have had an unhappy childhood.
If a child is treated meanly, and is the victim of mean tyrannies, he
grows up to regard the triumph of meanness as the supreme end in
life. His whole outlook is colored that way, and methods which we
normal people look upon as despicable are perfectly legitimate in his
eyes."
"Good God!" said Sir John aghast. It was the man, not the arguments
which startled him.
"Children ought not to be left to the chance training which their
parents give them," Ronnie went on, full of his subject, "but here, I
admit, I am postulating a condition of society which will never be
realized. Some day I will start my Mother College. It is a queer
sounding title," he said apologetically, "but you will understand I
want a great institution where we can take the illegitimate children
of the country, the unwanted children. They go to baby farmers and
beasts of that kind now. I want a college of babies where we will
teach them and train them from their babyhood up to think and feel
goodly, not piously. That doesn't matter. But bigly and generously.
To have high ideals and broad visions; to--"
He stopped and blushed, conscious of their interest and stupefaction;
squirmed unhappily in his chair, and rubbed his chin nervously with
the knuckles of his hand.
Sir John Maxton leaned back in his chair, his face twitching.
A waiter was passing.
"Bring me a brandy," he said hoarsely, "a double brandy."
Christina had only wanted water.